


Losing hair

by lady_snow



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Body Image, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_snow/pseuds/lady_snow
Summary: I wrote it back in 2013 on an old live journal account. It was a part of my "Forever Deuce" world but always stood as a stand-alone piece. I thought I might as well publish it here.





	Losing hair

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it back in 2013 on an old live journal account. It was a part of my "Forever Deuce" world but always stood as a stand-alone piece. I thought I might as well publish it here.

  
"You want to go to bed?"  
  
"Nah, in a minute, I want to watch this."  
  
Roger looked at the man who was sprawled on the sofa. Andy was lying with his head resting in his lap as he watched the television, occasionally he moved his head restlessly again Roger's thigh.  
  
He thought Andy looked tired, more than usual, more than normal, and he'd been twitchy and upset all day long. Well, it was a long trip from Chile, and Andy was defending a final in Indian Wells.  
  
"Okay." Roger said, and stroked Andy's forehead, then ran his fingers through his hair.  
  
To Roger's surprise, Andy stiffened, reached out to grab Roger's by the wrist and removed his hand from his head and placed it on his shoulder.  
  
Roger frowned. "What, did I pull on your hair?"  
  
Andy laughed a bitter laugh. "What hair?"  
  
Roger blinked, and glanced down at Andy, who kept staring at the TV. It was one of the things that they never mentioned, the fact Andy was, well, losing his hair. Andy didn't discuss it, and it was common knowledge on tour that all drugs that supposedly help men fight baldness had components in them which were unapproved by the WADA, so players on tour who were balding really had no recourse. One of the disadvantages of playing tennis.  
  
Then came that video of that match point in Memphis a month ago, and Roger cringed as he watched it. Sometimes he thought Andy would rather lose that match, than for the world to see that hat falling off – not so much for the bald spot, but for the mad scrambling Andy did to put it on again, even before celebrating his win.  
  
He stroked Andy's face. "You have hair."  
  
Andy turned to his back, his lower lip set. "Not for long." He closed his eyes and slung a hand over his face, and with a start Roger realized just how upset he really was, which was a strange feeling, because Andy was basically a jock that never cared that much about how he dressed or how he looked, until he started losing his hair, that is.  
  
"I swear to God I never pay attention to that."  
  
"Right. When I first blew you, I had long spiky hair you could grab. Now I had a buzz cut smattered with bald patches, but you've never noticed it."  
  
Roger lips quirked. "When I recall the first time you blew me - I don't exactly think of your hair."  
  
Andy didn't laugh, and Roger scrambled for words. Being insecure about their bodies was never something that troubled either of them too much. After all, they were both athletes, well built, tall. Andy was more classically handsome than he was, or so Roger thought, but it was never something that really bothered him, and they've seen each other naked in the locker-room way before they got together, so there were no special secrets there.  
  
He sighed. "It's not like I didn't notice, but it never made any sort of difference to me."  
  
"So you didn't think I looked better with hair? Right."  
  
Roger rolled his eyes. "Don't you think I'd look better with a different nose?"  
  
Andy opened his eyes with a frown. "No. You'd look weird with a different nose, this one suits your face."  
  
Roger shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I think maybe a nice straight nose would look better. They always photoshop it in my photos." He grimaced. "I can understand why."  
  
Andy grumbled something about the idiocy of photoshop and grumbled. "You've always had that nose. You're used to it. I'm used to having hair, I want hair. It's not about whether you still find me hot - "  
  
"Which I do." Roger interjected."  
  
"It's about not having hair, and thinking I look fucking ugly without it. I had this one fucking thing I was even remotely vain about, my hair, it looked good, and now it's just - gradually evaporating. Fucking fuck." His voice rose in pitch with every word, and he gulped on a breath at the end of that sentence.  
  
Roger sighed, he had a feeling trying to convince Andy it was irrelevant was useless.  
  
Instead, he stroked a thumb across Andy's face. "I'm sorry. It sucks. I really wouldn't want to lose my hair. I don't know what to tell you, other than that I hate to see you so upset over it, I hate it a lot more than the actual fact that you're losing your hair. It was a gradual thing, I honestly didn't pay that much attention to it until you started getting upset over it."  
  
Andy's body relaxed marginally and he sighed. "I know it's idiotic, I'm just tired of everyone discussing this."  
  
Roger rolled his eyes "Stop reading TMZ and searching for your own name in twitter, you'd feel a lot better."  
  
"Rich coming from you."  
  
"I don't read TMZ."  
  
Andy smirked a little. "A. They rarely write about you on TMZ, B. You read tennis journalshits, that's worse."'  
  
Roger laughed. "Journalshits, that's new?"  
  
"You like?"  
  
Roger snorted. "You use this in a press conference, and no one would talk about your hair."  
  
The smile curdled on Andy's face. "Well, if they stop talking about my hair they might get back talking about my tennis. I almost rather hear them talk about my hair, than to have people constantly remind me I have like a shitload of points to defend."  
  
"Yeah-" Roger sighed in agreement, thinking about his own pathetic Dubai finals for a moment, and his Indian Wells draw, then forcefully cast the thoughts aside, and looked down at Andy."It's going to be a long couple of weeks."  
  
He moved to stroke down Andy's throat, his fingers skirting under the collar of his Tshirt, then slide around Andy's throat, to thumb at Andy's neck with a thumb and two fingers. Eventually, the touch turned firmer, massaging and rubbing the tense muscles of Andy's neck. It wasn't the best position, with Andy facing him he had to use one hand, but it was good to see the tension slowly draining from Andy's face, the way the lips parted slightly.  
  
Roger smoothed over the crease in Andy's forehead with his other hand, and Andy moved his head against Roger's thumbs, sighing.  
  
After a moment, Andy turned around with a sigh and buried his face against Roger's stomach, right where his T-shirt rode up slightly to reveal tanned, warm skin and soft hairs. He stretched, sneaking his hand underneath Roger's leg, snuggling tight.  
  
"You mind?" He mouthed against Roger's stomach. "I just want to rest for a while, if it's alright."  
  
Roger frowned. "I don't mind, but are you sure you don't want to go to bed, then?"  
  
"No." Andy said. "I'm jet-legged enough, gotta fix that. Wake me up in an hour, if I fall asleep. You won't be bored?"  
  
"No, I'm good. TV's here. It's okay, you can sleep."  
  
"Kay, thanks." Andy blinked his lips, moved his head against Roger's thigh, then settled, and Roger could hear his breathing evening out after a few moments.  
  
He studied the pale skin, the very slight smattering of freckles. The red fuzz on his face, the well defined lips. "You're lovely." He mouthed softly and racked his fingers through Andy's hair. "Du bist schön, meine Liebe.."  
  
Roger turned the TV off. He continued sitting there quietly, stroking Andy's face, until it was time to wake Andy up.


End file.
